


Too Good to Be a Dream

by literaryempress



Series: My Ask Box Corner [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Army, Closeted Character, Closeted Mickey, Depression, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Ian's back from the Army, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Permanent Injury, Post-Season/Series 03, References to Depression, Season/Series 03, Serious Injuries, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryempress/pseuds/literaryempress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original Prompt: <em>Gallavich prompt: Mickey being Ian's shadow. With him wherever he goes and stuff. Being overprotective after some incident.</em></p><p>During 3x12. Ian has made the decision to join the army and leave Mickey behind. He didn't want to feel himself drifting back to him, not after Mickey was forced to getting married by his father. However, two months after Ian leaves with the army, he returns home with an amputated leg. His process of coming home from the army isn't easy, especially after he sees and hears Mickey following him everywhere he went - and not in the way anyone would expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Good to Be a Dream

Mickey has always cared about Ian. That was no secret.

Actually, Mickey himself, in a weird sense, was Ian’s secret. How, you ask? Looking from the outside into Ian's world, it’s complicated to say.

Fiona's redheaded drunk brother came home one evening, his clothes reeking in vomit and alcohol. Whatever happened before he stumbled through the house, Fiona knew it was something terrible.

“Ian?” Fiona softly spoke to him after he fell on the couch, face first.

Ian didn’t reply. He was too intoxicated to pay attention to a word Fiona had to say.

Judging by the tear stains on Ian’s cheeks, though, Fiona didn’t need much more evidence to have somewhat of an indication of what was going on. Ian was depressed or upset about something and needed to forget about it for a little while. No problem.

But then a while passed later on, and Ian gave almost everyone the silent treatment. Fiona was persistent in getting words out of her little brother, but he refused to speak every time.

Something happened the night he came in drunk and teary-eyed, and Fiona wanted to know before her brother made a huge mistake.

Unfortunately, Fiona was too late; Ian was already making the mistake of his life.

He had gotten his army gear on one day and showed up to the army registration office, young yet more confident than he ever was before. “I want to enlist.”

Ian was too young for the army, though. Even if he had the confidence and the training to participate, he would have to wait another year before army officials were ready to accept them on their team.

But Ian didn’t have another year. He wanted to be as far away from his personal drama as possible.

Before venturing off with the rest of the veterans, he had to visit the Milkovich household to say goodbye to Mandy. He couldn’t let her know what he was doing, or else she would beat the living shit out of him for doing it, and Ian Gallagher didn’t need anymore pain in his life than he already had.

Speaking of pain, there he was – in his tatted-finger glory.

Ian couldn’t even believe Mickey would have a smile on his face and talk about casual shit like new weight sets like they didn’t just go through some deep shit for the past few weeks. Ian was still mad at him. He had no intention to see him today, but he insisted on seeing Ian today, so Ian just let him.

“Wife made me take my Nazi shit down,” Mickey commented as he led Ian into his messy room. “She hates Nazis.”

Ian didn’t want to hear a thing about his new wife. He didn’t want to hear about how much better Mickey pretended his wife was in comparison to Ian. It hurt Ian too much.

And Mickey had the nerve to stride on over to Ian and say, “why don’t we pick up where we left off? I figure if she’s out fucking dudes, why can’t I?”

 _Because your head is stuck in your father’s ass_ , Ian wanted to say but didn’t.

Ian wasn’t going to let that bother him anymore. He didn’t want to spend his days crying over a guy that wasn’t going to come back to him, even with the heterosexual or hetero-normative bullshit his father was putting him through. He didn’t want to spend his days getting jealous or upset over a relationship that was completely forced. He didn’t want to spend his days waiting to see if Mickey would really commit to him or not, because with his father lurking around, Mickey can’t risk the family name and shit.

That was completely fine with Ian. He wasn’t even going to ask Mickey to do anything anymore. It was time to move on.

“I’m leaving town,” Ian told Mickey, who actually chuckled in the guy’s face like he was crazy. “For the army.”

Mickey slowly turned his head towards Ian, a can of beer in his hand. “You gotta be eighteen.”

“I found my way around that.”

Mickey was silent for a moment, putting the pieces together. “That’s a dumb ass fucking move,” he told Ian in disbelief.

Ian shrugged. “I leave tomorrow.”

Mickey was still and in shock. Ian leaving for the army? It can’t be possible. He’s only seventeen years old and exposed to guns and, eventually, bodies that will get blown up by giant bombs and shit.

And didn’t people in the army go away for a long time? How long would Ian be gone?

“Wha – how long –“

“Four years. Minimum.”

The wind had been knocked out of Mickey’s chest at this point. Ian in the army for four fucking years? He can’t go. Mickey won’t let him fucking go. Why the fuck did he want to go to the army now – and for four fucking years?

And that’s when Mickey started to understand. Ian had been staring him down for the past few minutes, and that could only mean one thing: Ian was leaving for the army to get away from Mickey. After Mickey got married to Svetlana, Mickey realized how distant Ian’s been getting. Even when Mickey attempted texting him millions of times, Ian didn’t want to respond.

That’s when it all made sense.

But Ian had to understand, right? He had to understand why Mickey was doing this, right? That didn’t change anything about their relationship, did it?

Mickey wanted to pinch himself and see if this was all a dream, but it looked too real. Ian Gallagher was standing right there, giving him the cold stare and telling Mickey that he was off to the army for four fucking years.

A lump started to form in Mickey’s throat. He won’t be able to see Ian for another four years – maybe more, if something serious happens on one of the army bases. Ian could possibly die, and Mickey will never see him again.

“What are you hoping? I tell you not to go?” Mickey spoke, starting to back away from Ian. “I’m gonna chase after you like some bitch?”

Mickey was born into a patriarch who believed that you shouldn’t show emotions, unless you want the world to deem you as a pussy. Mickey couldn’t help it, though. This was his best friend.

Probably more than a best friend. A partner, maybe.

Or a…a _boyfriend_.

“I didn’t come here for you.”

Mickey couldn’t believe this was happening. Ian was actually turning his back on him and fucking leaving him. He was leaving him for four fucking years.

Maybe more. Maybe Mickey will never see Ian again.

“Don’t.” Mickey caught himself choking out. Ian stopped in the hallway for a moment before turning around and facing what seemed to be a broken-hearted Milkovich.

“Don’t what?” Ian was hoping Mickey would say the words he had been waiting on ever since he and Mickey started catching feelings for each other. Ian had been waiting for a long time for Mickey to open up for him, and a part of him secretly hoped that Mickey would say the words Ian was imagining in his mind.

But he didn’t. A part of Mickey wanted to, but he didn’t, and he wanted to punch himself in the face for it. Ian was the only person in the world Mickey was comfortable talking with, so why could he talk to him about this? Why couldn’t Mickey get it through Ian’s skull that what he was doing could affect the rest of his life? Why couldn’t Mickey just keep Ian here?

Here at home, where he belongs.

“Just…” Mickey let out breathlessly. He felt tears forming in his eyes. Mickey could feel himself calling out to Ian, reaching out for him and bringing him in the room so Mickey could wrap his arms around him and kiss him for dear life.

The effects wore off Ian after time, is what Mickey could tell from the way Ian turned back around and prepared to leave.

Ian would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel anything when he heard Mickey sniffling in his room by himself. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about what came ahead for him in the army once he boarded that bus. Ian felt everything.

That didn’t mean that there was room for feelings when fighting in the army. There was tough love, sure, but not much else. Ian felt prepared. His energy levels were at an all-time high, and Mickey or anyone else wasn’t going to bring him down.

Well, maybe not _anyone_ , but _anything_ , maybe.

* * *

Fiona got a call from the army marshals about two months later, stating that they were sending a Phillip Gallagher home with an amputated leg up to the knee. When Fiona confessed that her younger brother Lip was in college, the marshal put Ian on the phone to talk to her.

“Hey Fiona.”

Fiona was furious with him. Shocked, at first, but then furious. If Ian were here, she would punch him in the chest. Then again, Ian was already in pain, so she considered that to be his punishment. “What the fuck were you thinking, going off to the army and getting yourself hurt?”

Ian held a hand up in surrender, trying to balance himself with his crutches. “Okay, okay,” he tried calming her down. “You can give me shit when I get home, but other than that, I’m fine. I promise, Fiona. I’ll be home soon.”

The marshal on the phone, however, had to arrest Ian that same day after finding out that Lip attended Chicago Polytechnic University and didn’t enlist in the army. Ian had been in one of the holding cells for a few days after they returned to Chicago, and he fucking hated every moment of it. He was tired as rocks and just wanted to sleep.

The sun was setting outside, and it was blinding Ian’s eyes a bit from where he was sitting. He didn’t want to move too much in the event that his amputated leg would start to hurt some more.

And just when Ian thought he was alone, he heard a voice in the room.

“You fuckin’ did it, didn’t you?”

Ian’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. It couldn’t be true, could it? Was this the voice he was actually hearing right now? He turned his head left and right and pinched his own arm twice. No one else was in the room with him – or that’s what he wanted to believe.

“I’m over here, jackass.” The voice made it through Ian’s right ear, and Ian followed the voice until his eyes fell upon his shadow on the wall.

Nothing happened. Ian frowned a bit. He had to be hallucinating something.

“You ever see a talking shadow before?” the voice rang through Ian’s ears, and this time, the shadow had moved.

Ian only frowned deeper. He had to be dreaming, right? “Mickey?”

“No shit, Gallagher. Who’d you think it was, fucking Apollo?”

Ian was silent for the next few moments. Mickey was actually in the room with him…but as a fucking shadow. How did this happen? Was this a stupid dream Ian somehow got sucked in?

I heard his shadow sigh. “I was fucking worried about you.”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I didn’t back there, but that was a fuckin' front since Dad was always around to spy on me and shit.” Ian frowned. “That’s not important right now. What’s important is making sure you get home safely, alright?”

“Since when do you want to be my fucking caretaker?” Mickey – or, well, the shadow – didn’t answer. “I don’t need one. I’m fine.”

Just then, a voice boomed from the outside of Ian’s cell. “Gallagher!” the marshal called, unlocking Ian’s cell door. “Come on. You’re getting released.” Ian was up in a flash, but not to fast or else he would have fallen on his face.

When Ian left his cell, Fiona greeted him from the outside with a tight, five-minute hug. Ian was her rock, as well as Lip, and she feared the day she would end up losing one or both of them. Lip, Carl, Debbie, and Liam accompanied Fiona, and they were all gentle with Ian as they welcomed him back home and gave him tight hugs.

Ian followed them all out with the help of his crutches, the thought of the talking shadow still in the back of his mind.

* * *

For the next few days, Ian stayed home and caught up with the sleep he missed out on. Actually, it was more than just catching up with sleep, but he wanted to assure everyone that he was doing fine, even with a missing leg and a revoked opportunity to participate in the army.

In reality, he really wasn’t.

Ian didn’t eat for a few days, and Fiona got a little worried. She and Debbie tried to bring food up to him, but Ian refused it. When Carl wanted to talk about how many people Ian shot when he was away, Ian didn’t answer. Lip even tried to hang out with him for a bit, but not even Lip could get a word out of his younger brother.

Everyone sans Fiona and Liam was out of the house one day, and this time, Ian woke up and took in the sunshine that was seeping through the blinds. He felt better after the sleep he had gotten and was now ready to start the day.

Ian grabbed the crutches from beside the night stand and prepared to walk himself on to the bathroom to pee when he heard that same familiar voice in the room. “What are you doing, man?”

No one was in the room with Ian right now, yet he could still hear Mickey’s voice. It was starting to get on Ian’s nerves.

“The fuck do you mean? I’m gonna go pee.”

“Um, TMI.”

“Well, you fucking asked.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what the fuck do you mean?”

“I know what you’re thinking, man. I just want to make sure you don’t do something that’ll fuck your other leg up. That’s all.”

Ian ran a hand through his hair. “Will you chill the fuck out? I’m getting used to the crutches.”

“Barely,” Mickey responded. “You’ve only used them for about two days, and you’ve spent the rest of those days sleeping your ass off.”

“I don’t fucking need your help, Mickey. I said I’m fine.” Ian started to use his crutches and walk out of the room. However, he almost didn’t notice the bundled-up shirt that was laying on the ground in front of him, and Ian felt one of his crutches slide on the fabric, stumbling Ian’s balance.

“Ian!” Mickey called, but it was too late. Ian had already fallen on his side, his crutches laying in different angles and Ian’s face directly in front of the open bedroom door. Mickey sighed. “You believe me now, you fucking asshole? Just let me help you –“

“I told you I didn’t need any fucking help!” Ian shouted angrily, which shut Mickey up immediately. “Just –“

Ian felt tears forming in the back of his eyes. He knew he was asking for some kind of danger when he wanted to enlist for the army, but he didn’t ask for an amputated leg. He just wanted to do something by himself, for once. He wanted to feel accomplished when he completed a task. He wanted to feel whole, complete.

He was bits and pieces now, some of them which he would never be able to get back.

“Just fucking leave me alone, Mickey! _Please_!” Ian cried, tears falling down his cheeks and onto the floor.

What Ian didn’t notice was Fiona standing in the hallway, watching her heartbroken brother break down on his bedroom floor. She made a move to get down on her knees and bring Ian into her arms. “Shh, it’s okay,” Fiona comforted him with back rubs and kisses in his red hair.

They were on the floor for a good five minutes. Ian let out all of his tears on Fiona’s T-Shirt, and Fiona continuously swallowed the lump in her throat from looking down at her younger brother.

“Want me to help you back in your bed, honey?” Fiona softly whispered to him as she felt Ian’s upper body feeling like dead weight. Ian nodded and allowed Fiona to pull him up and guide him back to his bed.

Once Ian was in the bed, he felt his eyes get a little heavy again from the soft mattress and the covers that were being placed over his body. Fiona leaned down and planted a kiss to Ian’s cheek as she watched her distressed brother fall back to sleep. She stayed in there for five more minutes to make sure Ian was okay before she exited the room and closed the door behind her.

Fiona walked downstairs and set her eyes on Ian’s cell phone that was charging in the living room. Ian’s words echoed in her brain. _Just fucking leave me alone, Mickey! Please!_ Fiona had no idea what that specifically meant, but she did know that there had to be something wrong between Ian and Mickey for those words to leave Ian’s mouth.

Whatever it was, Fiona wanted to help solve the problem, and that’s when she walked over to the outlet in the wall and unplugged Ian’s phone, bringing it to the couch. Fiona went to his contacts, finding a contact under than name Mick followed by a red heart.

Fiona could feel a tug at her own heart. It made so much sense to her now. It’s amazing how she didn’t notice before.

After moments of thinking about it, Fiona pressed Mickey’s contact and brought the phone up to her ear. A few rings passed before she heard Mickey’s voice on the other line. He sounded exhausted, despite the fact that it was close to the middle of the afternoon.

“Mickey?” she asked, a little hopeful in this plan working out.

“Gallagher…?”

“It’s Fiona. Listen, I need your help.”

* * *

Ian woke up hours later, still feeling blue on the inside.

Stupid, too. Stupid for even going to the army in the first place. Ever since he came back from it, he hasn’t felt the same, and it wasn’t just from his leg. He ruined every opportunity for having a purpose for himself in this disgusting, shitty world. He lost his sense of security and confidence. He lost a shit ton of things, other than a goddamn leg.

He’s pretty sure he lost Mickey, too, and that the talking shadow was just a phase to mess with Ian’s head. Mickey probably hates him now, for all Ian knows. He definitely has the right to be, especially after the way Ian treated him. This was basically karma flying back in Ian’s face. Ian felt guilty, reminiscing on the day he left Mickey to cry in his room. He hated himself every minute of the day for doing that to him. He wanted to do whatever he could to make it up to him, but knowing Mickey, Ian probably would get hung up on, or maybe Mickey would slam a door in his face if Ian were to show up at his house or something like that.

Ian wanted to get up and walk around a bit - hell, maybe even take a visit to Mickey's place to apologize - but after what happened previously, he didn’t want to risk hurting himself again. In fact, he didn’t even want to get out of bed anymore. He just wanted to hide under the covers and shield himself off from the rest of the world.

The moment Ian was about to close his eyes again, he heard that same familiar voice from behind him. “Ian?”

Mickey had to be fucking with his head or something. He had to be. Ian hoped that this was the fucking shadow so Ian won’t feel heartbroken after realizing that the room was still empty and that Lip and Carl were out doing normal things.

Normal things that Ian could have been doing, if he hadn’t joined the fucking army.

“Get out.”

“Ian –“

“You’re not really fucking here, are you? You’re just my shadow or some shit that’s willing to haunt me until I die, right?”

A three-second silence followed, and Ian felt a dip in the mattress before his head was turned around for him. That’s when Mickey brought his lips down to Ian’s, leaving a soft, passionate kiss on them. Ian wanted to believe this was a dream so bad, but the kiss felt too good to be a dream.

Ian opened his eyes after the kiss and, lo and behold, Mickey Milkovich was standing in front of him and not Ian’s haunting shadow. “I’m fucking here. Trust me.”

Mickey made himself comfortable in Ian’s bed, albeit the bed was tiny as fuck, and placed his tattooed hands on Ian’s body. The two stared at each other, with Ian whispering apologies, Mickey whispering assurances, and small tears leaving their eyes. After knowing each other for so long, they could easily read each other like a goddamn story book.

Ian gulped at the expression on Mickey’s face. This was the real Mickey Milkovich Ian has known for the longest time, and here he was with a face covered in emotions, sadness overpowering the rest.

A part of Ian wanted to talk to him about the shadow he had been seeing - well, hearing - ever since Ian got locked up in the jail cell. He wanted to tell Mickey about how Ian just so happened to be the only person who could hear his own shadow speak - and with Mickey's voice, too, instead of his own. He wanted to tell Mickey how he felt himself going crazy after hearing Mickey's voice for the past few days, but Ian decided against it. His suspicions have been proven by Mickey coming to the Gallagher house to comfort him. Sure, to Mickey and pretty much everyone else, the shadow thing was a bit weird. Still, it was very symbolic to Ian. It represented Mickey's inner feelings. Mickey really did love Ian, and he might be afraid to say it in the presence of his father, but Mickey's care for Ian didn't go away.

Mickey's care and affection for the redhead was never a dream. It was too good to be a dream, and Ian thanked every God there was that his dream was, in fact, a reality.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best writing, but idk, it may be different to everyone else. This was a pretty interesting concept, and I'm glad this prompt got sent to me. Really creative, anon.
> 
> My [ask box](http://promqueen-and-hairgel.tumblr.com/ask) is always open, if any of you want to talk with me or send me any prompts. Happy reading, everyone. I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend as well. <3


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